


In The Shadow Of The Dome

by fiorentina



Category: 15th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF, I Medici | Medici: Masters of Florence (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Angst, Forbidden Love, Historical, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, NaNoWriMo, Original Character(s), Pazzi Conspiracy, Renaissance Era, Romantic Angst, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:07:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28029030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiorentina/pseuds/fiorentina
Summary: The year is 1472. Volterra, a small city in the Tuscan hillside, suffers a gruesome sacking at the hands of a Florentine mercenary army. Like hundreds of his fellow citizens, 15 year-old Matteo di' Nanni loses everything: his parents, his younger sister and the smithy his family had owned for three generations. In Matteo's mind, there is only one culprit in the horrible fate of his hometown: Lorenzo de' Medici, the arrogant Florentine banker who believes himself to be king of the region. Matteo swears vengeance. One day, the blood of il Magnifico will stain his hands.Five years later, Matteo is forced to leave his home, haunted by the ghosts of the past. His destination: Florence. In a city where art and sin walk hand in hand, he soon finds himself wandering around in a world of artists, prostitutes and sodomites. A world in which beauty is rewarded with golden florins and groping hands. A world which will allow him to come closer to his goal than he had ever imagined. But while Matteo learns to become a master in the art of seduction, an invisible threat grows inside the palazzos of Florence. Soon, blood will run in the streets again and Matteo will have to choose: love or revenge?
Relationships: Leonardo da Vinci/Lorenzo "Il Magnifico" de' Medici, Lorenzo 'Il Magnifico' de' Medici/Original Character
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	1. Prologue: June 1472

**Author's Note:**

> This is a translation and continuation of my unfinished Dutch manuscript for NaNoWriMo 2020. Progress may be slow after the first few chapters as I work fulltime. 
> 
> Fair warning, while I place this story in the I Medici fandom, it isn't exactly a fanfic. Yes, you'll see Lorenzo and Giuliano and Lucrezia and others, but I'll using historical research as an inspiration more than the show. So Lorenzo does not look like Daniel Sharman, Francesco Pazzi does not get any redemptive characteristics whatsoever and a whole bunch of other things will not be like you know them from the show. Basically, this is more historical fiction than fanfiction but hopefully you'll stick around anyway because I have a lot of angst and fluff in store for y'all. So! Let's get started!

The narrow alleys and steep streets of Volterra were barely recognizable, even to someone who had spent their entire life in the small town. Every inch of cobblestone was covered in debris en dead bodies. The rain poured down from the sky and mixed with the pools of blood on the ground. The red water filled the worn out tracks that had been left behind by hundreds of carts and wagons. It felt as if the city had grown veins and the blood of its inhabitants had become its own.  
Slowly, I made my way through the rubble, towards the central square of my hometown. A few groups of disgruntled and desperate citizens had gathered in front of the _Palazzo dei Priori_. Both rocks and insults were aimed at the windows of the first floor, but the gates of the government building remained shut. I joined a small group that nervously kept to the side. I knew every face of the about ten young men that had gathered around a pitiful fire. Many among them bore the signs of the past few days: dark bruises and bloody bandages covered by torn and filthy clothes. Some of them had tried to stop the slaughter with their improvised weapons. Others had surrendered to the violence of the conqueror, hoping to spare themselves from worse. You might say that these were the lucky ones because they had survived. I wasn't entirely sure that was true.

Nobody had seen it coming. Not a single Volterran had expected Florence to react so harshly. In the end, all we'd wanted was that which we were owed: fair compensation for the alum mined within our borders. We were tired of bowing to the pope in Rome and his monopoly, not to mention the interference of the Florentine Medici family. Somehow, those bastards had managed to get the contract for both the mining and sale of the precious rock, and thus most of the profit went to them as well. As usual, our rural town received little to nothing. And we'd had enough.  
It had started small, with a few dissident voices within the government and complaints on the streets. Later came action: a small band of citizens had occupied the alum mines and refused to hand over a single piece of rock to the representatives of the Medici bank. They assumed the bank and the Florentine Signoria would respond by negotiating a new trade deal. They'd been wrong. Within days, the army of Federico da Montefeltro, the most infamous _condottiere_ of the Italian states, was at the city gates. Confronted with such an overwhelming force, the government could only relent. After a short siege, they had surrendered, on the condition that the city would not be sacked and there would be no casualties. Montefeltro swore that he would order his men to stand down.  
The first soldiers had barely marched through the city gates when the slaughter began. Hundreds of men, women and children were murdered, raped or mutilated. The least fortunate among them suffered a combination of the three. Homes were looted, down to the straw on the beds, before being burned to the ground. It would take years for the people of Volterra to recover, and they would never forget.

Suddenly, the sound of hooves on wet ground sounded from a distance. Three riders, I guessed. After all those years in my father's smithy horses had no more secrets for me. I could even tell which kind of horseshoes they wore by the sound of their hooves.  
It had begun as a game between my father and I. Every time a horse rode past the smithy, we tried to be the first one to call out the details of it: how tall it was, which horseshoes it wore and whether they needed replacing. My father always won. Until last week. I had finally been right faster than him. We had laughed and later that night at the tavern, my father had joked that the pupil had finally outgrown his master.  
A pang of sadness made my chest ache. The happy memory was now tainted with blood. My father was dead and the smithy had been reduced to ashes. There was nothing left of my past and my future. All because of the greed of the Medici family.

When the horsemen rode into the square, I glanced up from the fire I had been warming my hands on. There were indeed three of them and all three wore a long cloak that they had wrapped tightly around themselves to shield them from the rain. They looked soaked, as if they'd been riding for quite some time already. A group of troublemakers in front of the gates of the Palazzo dei Priori turned their attention to the new arrivals as well. They slowly moved out of the party's way when it became clear the palazzo was their destination.  
"That's Lorenzo de' Medici!" one of the men in the group called out suddenly.  
The rider in front immediately held back his horse, after which his two companions drew their swords to defend themselves and their leader. As they did, their cloaks slid away, revealing iron breastplates. The metal shone, even in this horrible weather, and the coat of arms of the Medici family with its six orbs was clearly visible. Shouts went up across the square as the Volterrans tried to grab the reins. The soldiers swung their swords, obviously prepared to maim and even kill if necessary.  
"Stop! I do not want violence against these people!"  
Lorenzo de' Medici's voice was surprisingly high, almost nasal. Definitely not the voice I'd expected from a man with his reputation. And yet there was authority in the way he gave the order, without shouting but also without tolerance for disobedience. While his horse restlessly moved back and forth, the rider seemed calm. This was the man who was responsible for all the lives that had been lost the past few days, but he looked nothing like the monster I had imagined. There was no explosive anger or arrogant cruelty to be found in _il Magnifico_ 's gaze.  
The men I had stood with now raced towards the skirmish and I knew that I had to join them. And yet my feet refused to move. My eyes remained fixed on the man on the white horse, who tried to stay out of the hands of people who'd surely tear him apart with their bare hands.  
One of the men grabbed his cloak and pulled, nearly managing to drag Lorenzo from his saddle, but he held on tightly. His black hair dripped with rain and stuck to his face. A pair of dark, almost black eyes desperately searched the square for an escape route. The famous wide nose, broken during a jousting game when he was younger, was red with cold and the full, sensual lips twisted into a grimace of exertion and mild panic. For one brief second, that ugly face turned towards me and all I could do was stare back at him.  
Finally the imposing oak doors of the _Palazzo_ swung open and about twenty heavily armed soldiers poured outside to chase off the rioters. Powerless at halberds and shields aimed at them, the men scurried off to the narrow alleys that lead away from the square, so they could disappear into the streets below. Lorenzo and his guards were taken into the building while still on their horses. Barely two minutes after they had opened, the gates once again closed.  
The square was empty now, safe from a few solitary passersby. I was still standing at the fire, but the heat of it was long forgotten. My heart pounded in my chest so wildly I was convinced it would break my ribs. The face of Lorenzo de' Medici was still before my mind's eye. It was the face of the man who had killed my parents and taken my home from me. There, in the pouring rain and the silence of a conquered city, I made a vow: one day I would look Lorenzo de' Medici in the eyes again and on that day, _il Magnifico_ would die.


	2. I: September, 1477

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas everyone!

There was little that smelled as foul as the  _ Ponte Vecchio _ . With its dozens of butcher shops, the bridge was permanently surrounded by a stench of raw blood and rotting meat. And yet it was one of the busiest places in the city. Farmers, traders, messengers and beggars all pushed their way through the crowd, hoping to reach the other side in one piece and with all their possessions still on them. It was the perfect working spot for every pickpocket. I clutched my worn leather bag against my chest. Its contents were all I had left: two clean shirts, a pair of trousers, a handful of money and my father’s tools. The entire way here from Volterra I’d protected the bag as if my life depended on it.  
Once on the other side of the river, the crowd dispersed more or less. People disappeared into the alleyways leading away from the river. A cart drove past at great speed and I barely made it out of its way in time. As I pressed up against the wall of a house, my heart raced. The driver didn’t even bother to look back and spurred on his horses. I shouted at him, but the words faded away in the noise of the bustling city.  
As I stood there, back against the cold wall behind me, I closed my eyes. I’d experienced the hustle and bustle of market day a thousand times over in Volterra, but this was something else entirely. The throng was almost suffocating and the noise deafening. Everywhere you looked, people were shouting, horses were neighing or chickens were clucking. Carts were being emptied and filled again with caskets of wine, bales of cloth or God knows what else. It seemed as if everything you could ever imagine was being bought or sold in this city. I wished I could return to Volterra, but there was nothing for me there anymore: no family, no smithy, no fiancée. My future was here, in this godforsaken city.

As I opened my eyes, I noticed a young man across the street. With his light brown curls and pale face, he had a rather feminine look. His clothes were colorful and richly decorated; the kind of clothing only a rich man could afford. He laughed, eyes sparkling, as he turned towards a man beside him. He too wore expensive clothes, but his hair had turned grey and his doublet was rather tight around the waist. The older man leaned towards his companion to whisper something into his ear. The boy laughed, gently bumping the older man’s shoulder, who then wrapped his arm around the boy’s waist. The boy protested, glancing around to see if anyone had noticed the gesture of affection. The older man pulled the boy into an alley and they disappeared from sight.  
The entire scene only lasted a few seconds. No one seemed to have witnessed it, or if someone had, they pretended they hadn’t. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen that kind of playful behavior. Volterra had enough inns and prostitutes and the flirty giggling of a woman about to be paid for her services wasn’t unfamiliar to me. But to see some rich boy flutter his eyelashes like a common whore, that was new. Maybe it was true what people whispered about Florence: a city where even the greatest of sins were tolerated as long as there was money involved.  
I tried to shake the slightly uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach and turned away from the alley. Above the rooftops the dark tower of the  _ Palazzo della Signoria _ was sharply contrasted against the bright blue sky. Without realising it, the imposing building seemed to draw me in and I let the flow of the street take me to the square in front of it. The large open space offered a moment's respite from the claustrophobic feeling of the small streets. My gaze was attracted by the rusticated façade of the  _ Palazzo _ and for a moment, I felt as if I was back in my hometown. The seat of Florentine government looked exactly like Volterra’s, albeit a little grander and more luxurious.  
As I moved closer, the gates of the  _ palazzo _ swung open and a small group of men clad in long red tunics appeared from the darkness within. They were surrounded by rough looking soldiers in uniforms, swords at their hips and some of them even carrying pikes or halberds. Immediately, the entire square seemed to pause and attention turned towards this strange band of mostly elderly men and their guards. Deep in conversation, they passed through the crowd, which seemed to instinctively make way for them. A woman next to me grabbed her son’s tiny hand and the boy clung to her skirts. I smiled politely at them.  
“Who are they?” I asked.  
The woman stared at me as if I had a horse’s head.  
“You’re not from around here,” she replied astonished, “Those are the  _ Gonfaloniere _ and the  _ Priori _ . They were elected just last week. For the next two months, this is their city,” she explained. Her voice betrayed that there was more to the story, however.  
“If they were elected, why does everyone look at them with such contempt?”  
She sighed, glanced over her shoulder and then turned towards me again.  
“These men in their red cloth aren’t chosen by the people on the streets, but by the rich in their palazzo’s. And especially by Lorenzo de’ Medici.”  
The name caused goosebumps to rise on my arms and my attention to her story doubled.   
“Usually there are little to no problems. Lorenzo always gets what he wants and his enemies get just enough to not feel overlooked. But last week something went wrong. The new  _ gonfaloniere _ is a fierce opponent of the Medici family. Ever since he was elected, there’s only been conflict, both inside the  _ Signoria _ and out. People are even getting killed.”  
For a few moments, her gaze wandered towards the group of government leaders, who had crossed the square by now and were heading in the direction of the  _ duomo _ . “In two months, the  _ gonfaloniere _ will be a Medici man again, I have no doubt. But God knows what we’ll have to endure before that time comes.”  
Now that the men in red had left, life seemed to return to the square again and the woman disappeared among the passersby. I stayed behind, confused but encouraged. Lorenzo already had enemies in this city, that much was clear. His power was fragile. With a bit of luck I’d soon get my chance.

I retraced my steps and headed back in the direction of the river. I’d spotted a small sidestreet with a smithy earlier. With a bit of luck they had some work for me, or the blacksmith could point me in the right direction. Even from across the street, I could feel the familiar heat of the fires. The blacksmith was working at a bench, where he was inspecting a new axe. I gathered all my courage as I approached him, clearing my throat to draw his attention. The man turned and gave me a questioning look.  
“Can I help you?” he asked as he put down the axe.  
His face was raw and red from standing by the fires for hours on end. Small droplets of sweat trailed down along his temples and he reached for a rather grimy-looking piece of cloth on his belt to wipe them away.  
“My name is Matteo,” I started off with a smile, “I’m looking for work. I was wondering if you were in need of an apprentice.”  
The blacksmith shook his head.  
“I’m sorry, kid. I can’t help you,” he muttered, already turning away from me again.  
“My father was a blacksmith!” I added hastily. Perhaps he thought I was some inexperienced boy that’d prove useless after a week or so. “I grew up in a smithy. I can start today and I barely need any guidance.”  
He looked at me again and sighed heavily as he leaned back against the bench.  
“I believe you, kid, but I can’t afford you. I’ve already had to send away my two other apprentices because there just isn’t enough work.”  
“Then perhaps can you tell me if there’s another smithy I can ask for work?” I asked, still a little hopeful, but again the man shook his head.  
“You could try at the stables of the various  _ palazzo _ ’s in town, but I doubt you’ll find a place you can work. I’m sorry, kid.”  
I nodded slowly and said goodbye. As soon as I was in more cooler air, I tried to take a few deep breaths, hoping to stave off the oncoming panic I could feel building in my chest. The money in my purse would last me a few days but if I hadn’t found work by then, it would be hard to survive in this unfamiliar city. I shook off the dark thoughts that threatened to overwhelm me. This was one smithy. Surely, somewhere in this city there had to be one blacksmith or one stablemaster who needed a helping hand.

In the following hours I wandered around the city, hoping to find work behind every corner. As the sun began to go down, I’d visited at least ten smithies and each had rejected me. All said they simply didn’t have enough work to take on an apprentice or already had one. With every disappointment, I lost a little bit more of the courage I’d started this journey with. Maybe tomorrow I should take that first blacksmith’s advice and try the private stables in the  _ palazzo’s _ .  
Exhausted and discouraged, I decided to walk into an inn near the river to spend the night there. Begrudgingly I counted down the money for a room and a meal of roasted chicken and pasta with some cheap wine. The tavern was filled to the brim with people and their shouts and laughter filled the room with noise. A few prostitutes made their way past the various tables of labourers, peasants and servants that had gathered to end their day with drink and gambling. Giggles echoed with every slap to the womens’ asses or groping hands moving towards their breasts. Eventually, they headed upstairs to the rooms on the first and second floor with those lucky enough to afford them for the night. At a table in the corner, a few men sat huddled around a game of dice. A game which was costing a man in a blue doublet quite a bit of money. I suspected his companions were all too aware of the loaded dice they were playing with and after a while, so too did the man in the blue doublet. It almost came to blows but the fat innkeeper chased away the troublemakers, who grabbed their dice and scurried off to find another gullible victim in another tavern.  
After a glass of wine, or two, I headed up to my room, which I shared with three drunkards, as it turned out. I’d already lain awake for several hours on the lumpy straw mattress when they finally stumbled in. I turned my back to them and drew the rough blanket a little tighter around myself. Hopefully I’d sleep in front of a smithy fire tomorrow night.


	3. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and happy New Year!

As in the smithies, my search for work in the stables was unsuccessful in the days that followed. Even when I was told to return the next day, the eventual answer would be hard no. I tried to visit as many of the _palazzo_ ’s I could, but I purposefully avoided one of them: the _palazzo Medici_. I’d rather die wretched and starved on the streets than ever spend a single day of my life working for that family. I might be desperate, but I was far from desperate enough to swallow what little I had left of my pride.  
The sun burned high in the pale blue sky above Florence when I sat down on a small bench beneath the _Duomo_ with a piece of bread and _pancetta_. My purse was starting to feel alarmingly light at my belt, but my stomach was aching with hunger. Perhaps I could save the rest of the food for later in the evening, so that I didn’t have to buy a meal at the inn. As I carefully nibbled on the bread, I watched the people around me. A monk was standing on a wooden crate, giving a thunderous sermon about the end of times and the sinfulness of the Florentine youth, but no one seemed to pay attention to the old man. On the corner of the _piazza_ , two rich girls stood gossipping but as a small band of fashionably dressed boys passed by, they quickly found something new to pass their time with.  
There had once been a time where I too could afford those beautiful, brightly coloured hoses and doublets. Before the sacking of Volterra, father had made a good living from his smithy and my mother had bought some expensive fabrics. Every night, while I slept, she’d sit by the candlelight and sew so the clothes would be my birthday surprise. I’d worn the doublet proudly on Sundays at church and at the tavern with friends on nights out. It had been that deep, dark green doublet with yellow stitching that had drawn the attention of Maria, the prettiest girl in town. Her father was an olive oil trader and she was just a little out of my league. Later, she’d say it’d been my unruly black curls and my oceanblue eyes that had made her fall head over heels for me, but everyone knew that Maria had high standards. She only picked boys that she knew could provide for her. We’d danced and laughed and after two months of courting her, I’d proposed marriage. Two days later, before our parents had even gotten the chance to discuss the dowry, Federico da Montefeltro had arrived before the city gates. After that, there had been no more fancy clothes, let alone a dowry.  
I looked away from the group of flirting youngsters and lowered my gaze to the bread and meat in my hands. My stomach still wasn’t full, even after eating half of the food. With a sigh, I packed the leftovers in a clean piece of cloth and tucked the package away in my bag. I rose from the bench, swung the bag over my shoulder and decided to walk in the direction of the _palazzo Pitti_. A stableboy had told me that perhaps I could ask for work there.  
Suddenly, I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder and so I turned to look who’d approached me. In front of me stood a handsome young man with wavy brown hair that came down to his shoulders and sparkling green eyes. On his cheek, I could see what looked like a spot of blue dye and his collar was smudged with the same substance. He could barely be a few years older than me.  
“You’re not from around here,” he said with a wide grin.  
“And how would you know?” I retorted. Somehow, I didn’t feel at ease around this stranger. Instinctively, I grabbed the shoulderband of my bag a little tighter.  
“I’d remember seeing a handsome face like yours before.”  
For just a moment, I didn’t know what to reply to that. My thoughts flashed to the couple I’d seen when I entered the city and the uneasy feeling in my stomach grew. I cleared my throat.  
“I’m from Volterra,” I admitted hesitantly, “I’m looking for work.”  
“What kind of work?” he asked without delay.  
“In a smithy or a stable. My father was a blacksmith and he taught me everything he knew.”  
The stranger laughed, giving me an amused look.  
“Please! A stunner like you hardly belongs in a filthy stable!”  
He took a step towards me but I mirrored his movement backwards.  
“What do you want from me?” I hissed irritably.  
“You could earn good money working as a model in my master’s workshop. He’s always looking for pretty young men like you. You’d get food and a roof over your head and quite a few florins and all you’d have to do is model for a couple hours a day. He’d take good care of you.”  
The subtle undertone to his voice was hard to miss. Modelling was definitely not the only thing this master expected from his models. Did this fool really think I’d just sell my body for a few coins? The idea alone made my stomach turn. I shook my head and threw him a disgusted glare.  
“Fuck off. Go find your perverted master some other clueless victim!” I spat at him.  
I pushed him out of my path and quickly made my way past him, but apparently my rejection hadn’t scared him off just yet. He hastily caught up with me as I headed for an alley that lead away from the Duomo.  
“Think about it, hm,” he laughed, “The workshop is just across the _piazza_ , just below the _cupola_. Just ask for Antonio!”  
Finally he fell behind and I quickly headed into the gentle shade of the narrow streets, out of sight.

The sun was setting when I finally dragged my tired body through the door of the tavern. The _palazzo Pitti_ had yielded little reward. I'd even walked all the way to the different city gates to see if perhaps the public stables there had any work but I'd run into a brick wall at every turn. I sank onto a bench at the back of the inn, tossed my bag onto the table and rested my head on the rough leather. The fire was already burning and a few chickens were slowly roasting, under the watchful eye of the innkeeper's daughter. She was pretty. Her light brown hair and her pointed nose reminded me of Maria. A thin layer of sweat glistened on her neck and forehead because she'd been sitting by the fire and her long, skinny fingers pushed back a rebellious curl that had escaped her tightly braided hairdo. From what I'd seen of her the past week, she even had a temper that would have matched Maria's. I smiled at the thought of how Maria could yell and scream whenever something didn't go her way. One time, she'd even aimed a bottle of wine at my head. After four long years of engagement without dowry or hope for a stable future, arguing was all we'd done. And still she remained faithful to me. Maybe because there hadn't been anyone around who could have offered her more.  
With a sigh, I buried my face in my hands. My beautiful Maria. We'd been planning to come to Florence together, to build a new life here. Until she fell ill. There was no money for a physician, let alone for medicine. Her mother had nursed her the best she could and her father had begged the local surgeon to treat her. Nothing had worked. Barely three days later I had to watch as the most beautiful girl in town disappeared into the cold ground, together with the last bit of happiness I had clung to the past few years.  
A raw, loud voice pulled me from my pathetic thoughts. The innkeeper, his round face a bright red, towered over me with an outstretched hand. I frowned.  
"You owe me money," he thundered as he wiggled his fat fingers.  
It was only then that I realised why he was so annoyed. I hadn't paid yet for the previous night I'd spent here, hoping I'd have some more money to spend today. My heart was in my throat as I reached for the purse inside my bag. I didn't know if I'd have enough money to pay the innkeeper and I doubted he'd be so generous as to let me stay another night without paying. Without looking at him, I emptied the leather purse onto the table. Barely a moment later, the innkeeper grabbed me by the collar.  
"That isn't enough, boy," he growled at me.  
"I'm still looking for work but tomorrow..." I tried.  
"Tomorrow is too late! But I'll be merciful because you're obviously not from around here. I'll take this money and you leave immediately, or else I'll call the guards and you can sleep with the drunkards and gamblers in a cell tonight."  
"But I have nowhere to go!" I complained and to my own shame I realised my voice sounded as if I was about to cry.  
"That's not my problem," the innkeeper muttered as he let go of my shirt, after which the last bit of my money disappeared into his greasy hand.  
I grabbed my bag off the table and for a moment, my gaze found that of the innkeeper's daughter at the fireplace. Her eyes were soft and full of compassion, but she quickly focused on her chickens again. Earlier this week I'd noticed a few bruises on her arm and wrist. Apparently, the innkeeper was as rough with his lovely daughter as he was with his clients. I wished I could take her with me, but I could barely fend for myself. My heart was heavy as I closed the door of the tavern behind me and I muttered a quick prayer begging God to be kinder to the girl than he had been to Maria.

The streets of Florence were filled with people at this time of night. Young rich men drunkenly stumbled from tavern to brothel and back, laughing and singing and drinking. Some of them snuck through the alleys of the city to the _palazzo_ 's of their lovers, hoping that their fathers wouldn't catch them deflowering their daughters. Older rich men melted into the shadows as well, making their way to their mistresses, but slightly more careful than their younger counterparts.  
The poor of the city squandered their money in the dozens of taverns, where they hoped to get drunk enough to forget about their wretched lives for a few hours. Across the city, fights broke out over seduced wives or loaded dice and on several occasions a band of city guards rushed by to break up yet another altercation.   
I tried to draw attention to myself as little as possible. The last thing I wanted was to end up in a prison cell surrounded by a bunch of aggressive drunks, as the innkeeper had predicted. My cape drawn tightly around myself I walked towards the river. The path along the water was nearly deserted. Everyone kept to the inner city, where the warmth of the day was still lingering between the houses. For a city where the sun could burn like an oven, it could turn surprisingly cold during the nights.  
Behind me the sound of boisterous laughter echoed through the night sky and I glanced over my shoulder. A group of young men nearly tripped over their own feet as they made their way along the path, singing loudly as they went. I could barely understand their slurred cheers but I could make out some kind of carnival song that contained quite a few sexual innuendos. The obvious leader of the group raised a bottle of _Chianti_ to the sky.  
"We drink to the health of _il Magnifico_! May he color our lives with more penis jokes for years to come!"  
The group bursted out in laughter again, after which they turned a corner and their noise faded into the cool evening air. I stayed behind with a bitter taste in my mouth and spat at the ground. It seemed _de' Medici_ was writing jolly little songs with the hands that he had dipped in the blood of hundreds of innocent people.  
I returned to the inner city, until I found a small enclosed courtyard at the end of an alley. I settled down in a corner, hidden behind a few empty barrels, and pulled my knees up against my chest beneath my cloak. As slowly as I could I ate the rest of the bread and meat from earlier that day, but it barely satisfied my hunger. I pushed my bag up under my head. Despite my racing mind and the everything but comfortable spot, my body was exhausted enough to fall asleep. I dreamed of mother and father and Maria. They begged me to save them but every time I reached out to them, they moved further away from me until they were gone.


End file.
